


born to die

by orphan_account



Series: tell me i'm your national anthem [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Nico di Angelo, Jason is a Dork, M/M, Nico Feels, Not Canon Compliant - The Burning Maze (Trials of Apollo), One-Sided Nico di Angelo/Percy Jackson, Pining, Protective Jason, Sad, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 07:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16719037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “sometimes life is not enough, and the road gets tough- i don't know why”he exhales with shaky breath and keeps his eyes on his feet, the shattered glass stained with red, cracked with regret, wondering why the world is shaking before he realises it's just his hands and legs trembling (but it's okay)he’s okay.he'sfine(a solangelo fic, in which will craves redemption and Nico drinks with sin)(hopefully multichaptered)





	born to die

**Author's Note:**

> hi, this is a rewritten version of my previous fic, national anthem, with a few alteration and more organised chapters. i hope you enjoy, and please read notes at the end xx
> 
> (credits to lana del rey, for title)

**chapter one; shades of gold**

So he finds himself sitting on a cliffedge and watching the sun sink below the horizon, his skin painted in a thousand shades of gold, legs dangling over the edge and swinging to the rhythm the waves keep as they crash against the stone.

(He wonders if the ocean has a heartbeat, a pulse, to keep the waves crashing and the storms fed, to inspire the water to engulf ships and stop another heartbeat's pulse pulse _pulse_ ).

 

He wonders if the ocean has a heartbeat and he sits with his legs dangling over the ledge, swinging then to the rhythm of the waves and his heartbeat, sitting with sunset painting his pale skin in all shades of golden light like flecks of glitter. His bangs fall over his eyes as his head cocks lazily to one side, fingers entwining themselves in his sleeves and a smattering of sinful beauty on his skin-

(there's and odd sense of emptiness in his chest that isn't uncomfortable but not comfortable either. Just, empty. He thinks maybe there's a word for it but doesn't want to ask).

-Almost shakes, the tip of his his fingertips almost _shakes_ when he traces the outline of the honeyed yellow on his arm, no longer dark and smoky and dangerous but solid and pale and he doesn't understand the tremors in his hand (and he really doesn't want to think about it, so he takes to staring out at the sea and the thousand shades of colour). The breeze pushes away his bangs, and he breathes deeply- in through his nose, out through his mouth- the way Will taught him to, the way he has being following religiously whenever he felt arising panic. He knows he probably shouldn't be sat near the sea with the smell of salt clinging to his skin, the taste of it biting at his tongue, but the silence is alluring and the peace addicting and doesn't know if he really wants to face the world again (of course not of course not). So he finds himself sitting on a cliffedge and watching the sun sink below the horizon, his skin painted in a thousand shades of gold, legs dangling over the edge and swinging to the rhythm the waves keep as they crash against the stone.

Time passes, he knows, but strangely and it doesn't feel like seconds until the sun is almost swallowed by the waves, the clouds parting as if for it, heartbeat rolling and waves pulsing and chest aching at all the beautiful things around him, but that's okay. 

It's okay.

(It's okay but his hands still shake in his sleeves).

 

And it's quiet. He likes the quiet. He likes the quiet because it soothes his aching mind and heart, let's him lose himself in nothing really at all when there is no sound to keep him grounded to the Earth, likes the feeling of dissociating himself from his sorry life, his sorry soul. It's okay and he likes it and he wonders if the ocean has a pulse. 

(But the quiet also leaves him alone with his thoughts, and that is dangerous; it's so so dangerous to leave his aching heart with his aching mind and let them drink and dance and fuck with each other. It's so so dangerous and he half-wonders if that's why he likes it so much).

He breathes in through his nose and out from his mouth like the way Will taught him a few days go, and _fuck_ , times sure passes quickly when you're having the time of your fucking life. And there it is again- that name, the blond healer that is sure annoying as hell but let's something linger in his voice that makes Nico curious, like a muted fire starved of oxygen, Pandora's Box and Nico really _really_ wants to see what's inside it, what the fire can burn, how long it can. He wonders if the fire is as terrible as his own, his secrets as dark and fucked up, but he doubts it, because the healer seems as fucking pure as they get-

(but so does Jason and Nico knows of the lies he tells Piper everyday, the smiles he wears like a paper mask and the secrets tainting his blood)

-so he catches his breath and ambitions and wonders if a son of Apollo can have darkness at all. 

 

So he swings his legs as sea spray stains the leather of his boots and the sea churns below him in a movie of gold only he is watching, the crescent moon beginning to shine through the darkening sky with the stars that accompany it. Then there it is again, that strange feeling in his chest, of emptiness, of nothing, and the quiet leaves him alone with his thoughts which he knows is a very terrible _terrible_ thing. But it's okay, he likes it- it's okay. 

It's okay.

(It's okay but his hands still shake in his sleeves).

 

\----

In the midst of the commotion Nico lets himself wonder-

(apparently a girl from Demeter had started vomiting up blood on her way to the fire, eyes turning glassy and dark and lips tinged with blue. The Apollo cabin had rushed to the rescue like the fucking heroes they are and Nico was left sat at his table with an empty plate and an emptier chest)

-what would happen if his father was a man, not a god, capable of speaking words without sharpening them with knives first, to live without his shroud of darkness and souls of the damned screaming in the seams. He wonders what would change if one day he got up and left and slotted himself into the mortal world, finds a way to mask his scent and fucks up his life in the that world, _too_ (figures he would just come running back to the gods with his tail in-between his legs when it all became too much because he is a _coward_.

There is acidic air in his lungs when his eyes close and smashed, bloody pieces of his mirror littering the floor of his bathroom from when he looked in it and hated himself but loved the bruises on his knuckles. Coward. He is a coward and there's no getting around that).

Anyway, he wonders who he would be if he was better at _dealing with things_ , because he knows he has a short-temper and is selfish and stupid and foolish and-

now he's getting panicked so breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, like the way Will taught him too

-there's a million things he could says he hates about himself and a million other things he could do better, but that won't change the fact that he is _sick_ and a fuck-up, and doesn't deserve the friendship Jason offers him, the tender look Hazel gives him when she things he has looked away. 

He wonders about a lot of things but knows he will never do anything because he is a coward and cowards never change. 

(But he likes to wonder who he would be if he wasn't, anyway).

\---

The sick is cleared and the girl hospitalised and Nico finds himself sitting next to Jason who sits next to Piper watching the flames reflect in glassy eyes. Nausea lodges himself in his throat at the sickly sweet smell of marshmallows wrapping it's poisonous tendrils around his throat, the laughter that rings through his ears and he knows it pointless to be _bitter_ but he also knows that the he doesn't think he can't really feel much else right now. 

(It's hard not too feel at least a little bit jealous at all the smiles and bright eyes and _friends_ surrounding him, pressing their suffocating hands of infectious affection on his chest, when he sits next to Jason who sits next to Piper and is left  
listening to them promise how much they _love_ each other. Nausea lodges itself in his throat and he wonders if Piper can see through Jason's lies as easily as he can).

His hair is golden, honey in the firelight, face as handsome as sculptured as ever and Piper talks with her hands in the air, face as beautiful and pure as ever, and Nico skin itches and feels awfully out of place next to them. Feels awfully out of place next to everyone, really. 

(Plus Jason's glasses are crooked and that really fucking pisses him off).

Nico glances around the circle of campers and tries to ignore the absent places, tries to focus instead on the firelight flickering in the grass and the shadows that stretch from it like spider legs, spider webs. He scrunches his hands into his sleeves again, if only to stop them trembling.

Nico,” Jason says, as he turns away from Piper with one of his signature frowns of concerns creasing his brows, lips pulled into a tight line after he speaks. “You okay?”

Nico shrugs, one of his signature shrugs that he's 95% sure Jason hates. “Yeah,” he says.

He hears Jason sigh, as he moves to place a hand on Nico's shoulder and then pauses halfway, and he can feel Piper's inquisitive eyes on his skin. “I'm okay,” he continues, and leans into Jason's touch, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and daring to look up from under his lashes. Jason's face remains mostly neutral but Nico can't help but notice the little twitch of his lips, the softening of his brows. 

“That's good. That's...great, actually.” Jason grins, one of his shit-eating ones, and Nico averts his gaze to the fire, trying to ignore the guilt in his chest from lying and the fucking _pride_ he feels for doing it so so well. 

The emptiness is gone and so is the sick but Nico finds himself sitting next to Jason who sits next to Piper watching the fire with impassive eyes. 

\---

Eventually, after what feels hours and far _far_ too long, Chiron dismisses them all to bed and Nico stops himself from swinging his legs over the log too quickly, too eagerly. Jason lags behind him, he can tell, feel his eyes on his neck, and he turns at the right fucking moment to see Piper reaching up to loop her arms around Jason's neck and kiss him on the lips, to see him reciprocate without hesitation and bring a hand up to her cheek,-

(and it makes Nico _sick_ , makes him feel sick and makes him want to scream stop _lying_ again and again and again to Jason, feels sorry for Piper and wants the tear her pretty arms from Jason's neck. He wants to scream at her for not realising that Jason is only leading her on and he for being so _good_ at it)

-a soft caress and then she's looking at him with those big kaleidoscope eyes and Nico tears his own away. Conflicted, he slows his walk to wait for Jason to catch up to him and then turns to face him with his own big, dark eyes. 

“When are you going to stop lying, Jace?” He mutters, sweeping his bangs from his eyes for that one second to see the flurry of emotions flash across Jason's face. 

Jason looks affronted; he probably would be too, but still. “What are you talking about Nico? I'm not lying to anyone?” And Nico wants to stare him straight back in the eyes and shout at his fucking handsome face until he _understands_. 

(He's not sure when he began to care so much, and why he does, but doesn't care much for finding out, either). 

Instead, he just shakes his sorry head and says, “you know what I mean,” with half-lidded eyes and wishes Jason would just _do something-_

(which is funny, telling _Jason_ , of all people, to do something when he knows he would never because he is a Coward and a Coward would never face the truth; but Jason's Not A Coward, Jason's not a coward and Nico wants to say he isn't bitter). 

-then his dark bangs fall over his face again and he's walking away with weak legs and a bitter taste in his mouth, a weird feeling of weightlessness curled around his feet that tightens with each step, as if whispering, beckoning him to a place he can't remember and a person he can't place-

-walks away feeling like a dead man walking, dead on his feet, but that's okay.

It's okay.

It's _fine_.

\---

 

His cabin isn't too far away, but the distance feels like an eternity, heavy feet dragging across the ground that melts under his eyes. The air bites at his skin, like insects are crawling over him, and he breathes a shaky sigh of detached relief when his fingers curl over the cold handle of his cabin and he stumbles through the threshold. The black walls seem to swim, and he slips into the brightly lit bathroom with a sigh of relief. 

The darkness, the black, of the rest of his cabin feels too much, too loud, and he grips the sink with his hands and weaves around the glass on the pristine tiles (he should really clean that up. He'll do it in the morning). He leans over the sink, and there's still a few shards of glass stuck to the wall so he swipes a finger under his eyes, as if that'll wipe away the dark shadows under them, as if he can just shove it under the carpet and forget about it. (Silly Foolish Nico, thinking he can escape himself).

Nauseated, he pulls his hands from the sink and sits on the cool floor next to the bath, presses his head against the white wall and thanks whoever the fuck designed the rest of his cabin after his little twelve year old self left, for keeping at least some of it _normal_. He thanks that person and swallows the bile in his throat. 

He lets his eyes flutter shut, prays to gods, even though he really really doubts that they'll listen, that he won't dream, and feels the exhaustion from this stupid emotionally-draining day seep into his brain. Makes his head spin, limbs feel detached, weightless. 

(He decides he likes the feeling; he's okay).

He's okay.

He's _fine_.

\---

 

(Then boom crash and suddenly the trees are sad and the butterflies are _dead_ ).

He guesses it all started when he woke up with an aching neck and throbbing head. He guesses it started when he forgot about the glass on the bathroom and cut his palm, skin red and shattered hope that today he would be _different_. He guesses it began-

he guesses it doesn't matter anymore-

doesn't matter anymore.

 

Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore because he's still sat cross-legged on the forest floor with his chin in his palm, the gnarled roots of an old old tree snaking under his legs, his feet. It doesn't matter anymore because the sun will still filter through the leave and dart over his skin, the sky will stay that startling blue overhead, the trees will stay sad and the butterflies _dead_.

(It doesn't matter anymore.

It doesn't).

There's a sketching pad in his lap, an old one, filled with shitty doodles he did when he was what, ten?? eleven ??, the pages creased and crumpled and some scorched but there nonetheless, pencil marks messy and drawing smudged but, there, at least. He stares at the empty page and tries not to let his fingers tremble around the pencil in-between his fingertips, his bottom lips between his teeth and silver ring glinting on his hand.

He wants to draw- really _really_ wants to draw, but as he hovers the pencil over the paper he can't help but be a _little_ bit anxious of what his fucked up mind will compel him to draw, what tragic story from his tragic past with resurface once again.

Then the word _coward_ surges through his mind and he tears the book from his lap and throws it across the clearing, the pencil with it, watches them clash against a tree and then he sinking further into the shadows. His chest rises and falls quickly, and he blinks back the tears that threaten to blur his vision, his head cloudy and the air feeling too hot to dense too _there_. 

(Then boom crash and suddenly the trees are sad and the butterflies are _dead_. But it's fine)-

It's fine.

It's _fine_.

-

“Nico?” 

(and shit- it just must be _Jason_ , doesn't it, who will probably look at him with his golden eyebrows all scrunched up and that little scar on his lips stretching, in something akin to worry).

Nico looks up, wishing his eyes would just dry up _quickly_ , so Jason won't notice anything, won't suspect anything- but Jason's Not Stupid and Jason Is Not A Coward, so the younger demigod says, “hey, you,” with a kind of watery smile that he knows Jason can see right past, prays he isn't too mad at him and keeps his arms folded. 

With a sigh, Jason sits on the tree root next to him, and his electric eyes scan Nico's face and then flit to the sketch book by the other sad tree. “I thought you'd be here,” he says, when Nico opens his mouth, then closes it and bites his lip bloody. “And...I- I know I should, but I can't. I don't want to hurt her, you know, and I know it will.”

The blond runs a hand through his hair, which he still hasn't cut so it's kinda long, but Nico decides he likes it like that- it makes him look younger, in a way, less like a literal war veteran at seventeen and more like a teenager who's maybe seen a little too much of the world (and it looks golden in the sunlight and Nico decides he likes that, too).

“I know, Jace, I know. I'm sorry for snapping at you.” He shrugs, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie past his hands so Jason won't see his fingers trembling.

Jason shakes his head, a strange look crossing his face. “No- but that's just the thing, isn't it? You _shouldn't_ be sorry; it's me who should be, and I should be saying that to Piper _gods_.”

“It's not your fault. We can't choose who we love,” he breathes, bitterness heavy in his voice that Jason doesn't comment on, and even though he doesn't _love_ Percy anymore, there's still that lingering feeling in his chest and drumming of his heart, the chapped lips, bloody tongue, and he figures that as long as the stupid feeling stays, so will the bitterness, the sadness. 

(And Jason looks at him, then, all tender and soft like a fucking teddy bear and, really, that's all Jason is, isn't it??? A big fucking teddy bear with muscle and a nice face).

“Thank you, Neeks.” Jason shifts a bit closer, so their shoulders are just brushing, and Nico leans his head on Jason's broad shoulders and forgets about the broken wings around his feet. 

“It's fine,” he says.

It's okay.

It's _fine_

**Author's Note:**

> list of things i am ignoring for this fic yeet.
> 
> nico's obvious growing crush on will.  
> nico's obvious improvement in his mental health + health.  
> the lack of kids dead after the war(s)  
> everyone seems to have prevent decent mental health still ???  
> the romance the /probably/ happened during that three days in the infirmary.  
> trials of apollo. like all of it. especially the burning maze. whoops.
> 
> i think that's all ???? maybe mmm. i’ll add more if I think of them, i guess. also, i just wanted to clarify that this fic is solangelo, because those end scene(s) seemed kinda ?? jasico ?? maybe, and i just imagine nico+jason relationship to be like, platonically romantic. like they will act as though they are dating, and probably would, if they tried, but still /like/ other people and such. they will probably be implied jasico, but nothing serious, i guess ???
> 
> anyway, a l o t a l o t of this fic is probably going to be headcannon, and i realise and admit now that the characters may be a bit ooc so please please don't comment on that, so that i can alter it. also, this is going to be one hell of an angsty ride™, so i will but trigger warnings at any h e a v y chapters. 
> 
> i try to keep my chapters above 3000 words, which isn't a lot i know, but chapters will take me y e a r s otherwise (probably will, anyway), and i try to update on sundays but ?? who knows 
> 
> finally, because i have rambled long enough, please don't hesitate to give feedback- constructive criticism is always welcome !!!! and i hope you enjoyed this chapter. kudos’ are always thanked !! 
> 
> (if u have any questions or just want to talk, what not, my Tumblr is occultine, and my wattpad the same, yikes).
> 
> thank u xxx


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